


The world heaves with torment

by rivkael



Series: the days after [5]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Gen, Injury, Religion, The Stormrage twins content we need, War of Thorns, kind of an imagine i guess, praying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 05:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16401968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivkael/pseuds/rivkael
Summary: Malfurion is hurt.Illidan is helpless.





	The world heaves with torment

In the end, it didn’t matter how it happened, why Illidan was a world away when it happened.

(He and the Illidari were salvaging the Black Temple for treasures and memories that had been left behind)

It only mattered that the brothers were not together when Ashenvale was taken. That Malfurion had been brought back, unconscious and bleeding around an hour ago, and had not yet woken.

That Illidan had only just made it to Stormwind city, and was now arguing with the Lion’s Guard, who refused to let him in to see his brother.

“I’m sorry, sir, Lady Whisperwind told me to allow none entrance,” the woman said with finality. “You are welcome to wait outside.”

“He’s my brother.”  _ And we owe each other so much— _

“Look, I’d love to let you in, but I have to follow orders.” 

It wasn’t the woman’s fault.

Illidan paced in front of her, nine paces counted under his breath, before seating himself across from the door. Within seconds the restless energy had him on his hooves once more and he paced, because he had nothing else to do.

It was panic, he guessed. Panic at being helpless,  _ again _ . Malfurion was in there, with Tyrande, and he could do nothing, nothing but sit and pace and think about how and why it had gone wrong.

And the only thing he could think…was that he wasn’t there. That was hardly a comforting thought. 

“Lord Illidan!” The sound of approaching feet and his name had him looking up to see the young human king, Anduin Wrynn. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

Illidan folded his arms, gaze flickering to the closed door. “I couldn’t stay away once I learned Malfurion was injured.”

The boy nodded. “He’s in good hands, try not to worry.” The young king met the gaze of the woman guarding the door and she gracefully stepped aside to let him pass. “I’ll have a bench brought for you, Lord Illidan.”

A bench. As if that made up for this torturous wait.

“That is my  _ twin brother _ in there.”

The king’s voice was calm as he turned the handle of the door. “I understand this is difficult for you but right now what he needs are healers. Once he is stabilized, you may come in. I promise.”

Illidan let out a huff of breath. “Take care of him, with everything you have.”

King Anduin gave him a sharp nod and then squeezed through the doorway, shutting the door behind him. Leaving Illidan alone once more with the Lion’s Guard.

“This is unbearable,” he hissed after a long, awkward pause, flaring his wings as he turned to keep pacing. Nine steps, nine steps.  _ One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. _

_ One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. _

Time passed. Illidan paced. The woman watched him with as much discretion as she could manage. Faint chanting could occasionally be heard from behind the door. He refused to stand still for a second, nervous energy buzzing under his skin. 

The hallway was too small. Illidan was loathe to leave Malfurion’s door but he knew that he would be no use to his brother like this. “I will return,” he said to the woman, who nodded. Illidan turned and headed for the nearest balcony. 

Rather than take off, he sat down, pulling his knees up to his chest and tilting his head up to watch the moons.

He found himself praying, talking to the goddess of the kaldorei in a frank, almost accusatory way. “You may not love me, but you love her, and him. Why is he so wounded? How could this happen?”

Elune, as was her way, did not answer him. “For the love you bear my brother and his wife, my sister.” It hurt to say, but he had to get used to it. Ten thousand years had only partially cured him of his love for her, and while he had loved one other, she would always own a portion of him.

The moonlight was gentle and cool, sinking into his skin. 

Illidan swallowed, and bent his pride.  “Mother Moon, forgive me. I have caused harm. I should have been there.” The coolness was seeping over him, clearing his mind. He wondered if this  _ was _ Her response. 

He sighed, settling down slowly. His twitches began to ease, and he slumped. 

It was cool and quiet. A slight breeze brushed the hard skin of his wings and upper body. 

Illidan, slowly but surely, began to relax. Malfurion was in good hands. He was going to be okay. They were safe. The kaldorei refugees, on the other hand…well, he’d sent what illidari he could to offer assistance. 

He doubted they’d appreciate their Betrayer, no matter that his and Malfurion’s renewed brotherhood was basically common knowledge at this point.

And the young world tree was burning.

His Slayer had taken off into the arms of the Deathlord and he had appointed Izal in her place for the time being. The Bladesongs had lost over half their remaining numbers. They deserved time to grieve. 

He opened his mouth, tasting the air, but the ashes from Teldrassil he could smell were not floating around. They had been trodden in on the last few refugees to make it through. On the Deathlord’s armour - which had been almost glowing with heat. On the scorched fur of worgens, the burned hair of elves and Gilneans.

Someone approached him on light feet, and he turned. It was Tyrande. 

Shocked and off balance by this, Illidan climbed to his hooves and waited for her to speak. “Malfurion is resting, but asked for you to be in the room. I must attend to my people.”

The cold, impersonal way she spoke to him was something of a relief. The words she spoke, even more so. He nodded, and immediately she turned and walked away.

Obviously the awkwardness between them was felt on both sides. He was pretty sure that was a good thing. The less time he spent around Tyrande, the happier the both of them would be.

He shook his head, then hurried to the room where Malfurion lay.

The Lion’s Guard soldier had been joined by a colleague of hers in the same armour and this time she gave Illidan a cordial nod. He was already halfway into the room by this point, and did not bother to return it.

Inside, Malfurion lay stomach-down on a couch while King Anduin and a servant stripped the bed of bloodied sheets. 

Electing to ignore this for now, Illidan simply wandered over to his brother. There was an unused cushion by Malfurion’s head, and he pulled it out in order to place on the floor and use as a seat.

Malfurion, though bleary and barely-conscious, seemed to know Illidan was there instantly, murmuring something under his breath and attempting to turn his face toward his brother.

Illidan reached out as he sat down, and began threading clawed fingers carefully through Malfurion’s hair, picking out the debris of battle and clearing the knots. It would take a while and he likely wouldn’t get everything, but this was a start. “I’m here, Mal,” he murmured for his brother’s ears only. It had been an eternity since he’d seem Malfurion brought this low. It was almost unthinkable. And yet…

Malfurion curled closer to Illidan, letting out a sound that could only really be described as a whimper. 

“Shh, I’m right here,” he soothed again and, panicking slightly, Illidan leaned over to press a kiss to his brother’s temple. “It’s alright.”

“S’painful,” Malfurion muttered, turning his face so they could see one another better. “Tyra—,” he cut himself off, looking at Illidan anxiously.

Illidan hushed him, leaning close. “She went to go see to your people, brother.” He rested his chin on the couch beside his brother’s head. “I know, it hurts.”

King Anduin approached. “We can move him back to the bed now, Lord Illidan,” he prompted gently.

Illidan looked up at the young king, then down at Malfurion. “I’ll do it. Come on, brother. Back to the bed.” He stood, then leaned down to gather Malfurion in his arms. The brothers were of equal height (discounting the horns and antlers), and a similar body mass, so Illidan was easily able to lift his brother with one hand under the bend of his knees and the other around his back. 

Malfurion groaned slightly at this, but Illidan ruthlessly ignored it and quickly transferred him to the bed.

King Anduin nodded at the pair of them. “Keep him on his front, he’s going to be in a moderate pain over the next few hours as the wound slowly heals. The prophet Velen was summoned to check over my work but he won’t arrive until tomorrow, likely. Before I go to assist with the refugees, is there anything you need?”

Illidan stretched out on the bed beside his brother, one hand returning to stroking his hair. “We can ask a servant if we need food, correct?”

Anduin hummed in affirmative. “Yes, and if the pain suddenly increases for no explainable reason, please have someone send for a healer. If not me, then someone from the royal household will come.” He nodded to Illidan, who bemusedly nodded in response. “Anyway, time for me to go. You’re welcome to use the room as long as you like, and any illidari and druids who come asking will be directed here. Goodnight to you both.”

Illidan nodded again, and a few moments later the door closed. 

Left in there with just Malfurion for company, he turned to meet his brother’s tired gaze. “How are you doing?” he asked quietly.

His brother huffed. “Aches, m’tired,” he breathed, bringing up one of his hands to grab at the unoccupied one of Illidan’s. 

Illidan squeezed it gently. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I should have been. I was misled by the letters and by the time I knew of the truth, we here halfway through Shadowmoon Valley and basically out of contact, forgive me,” Illidan said in a rush, the hand that was stroking Malfurion’s hair shaking slightly.

Malfurion frowned at him “Isn’t your fault,” he tried for firm, but it came out weak. “W- all tricked.” Seemingly giving up on full sentences, Malfurion looked his brother over. “Closer?”

Illidan shuffled over so that he was huddled against his brother’s side, still holding his hand. “Whether anyone thinks it’s my fault or not, I feel guilty for it,” he murmured. 

Malfurion squeezed his fingers. “Am safe. Both…rest now.”

Illidan nodded, though he knew he could not sleep so quickly. He curled closer and relaxed, lying still. 

Malfurion was quickly lulled into a doze by Illidan’s steady breaths. What was more surprising was the speed with which Illidan followed him into unconsciousness, leaving the pair curled together limply, trusting in the Stormwind Royal Guard to keep the room protected.

When Tyrande returned to check on Malfurion six hours later, the sight caused a hitch in her breathing, a slight wetness in her tired eyes. 

And then she removed her shoes and armour and the headdress from her hair climbed into the bed at Malfurion’s free side, curling beside her husband to gain some well-earned rest. Perhaps,  _ perhaps _ they could go back to something like what they once had.

And even if they didn’t, this moment did. The three, together, for one more time.

 

.


End file.
